


A ghostly touch

by kazarina



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Emotional Sex, Ghost Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Laurent has to get over his tension, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Spanking, Supernatural Elements, Undressing, but there is consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazarina/pseuds/kazarina
Summary: When Laurent moves into the cheap apartment that he has rented, he finds that wishes come true in the apartment or something else is living there with him. If he has never been able to speak his desires aloud, then it is good that someone can read his mind and fulfil the desires he never knew he had.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began as solely PWP, so Chapter 1 is where all the kink is, the mildly dubious consent applies here because of the situation. At the same time I had in mind all this back story and the 'what would happen after', so the rest of the chapters are going to be the development of their relationship and a happy ending.

Laurent’s heartbeat fills his ears as he tries to regulate his breathing. _Breathe in, breathe out._ His mind is catching on to the fact that this is real, is really happening and it’s not a figment of his imagination. No amount of breathing calms him. The hand that had caressed him, touched him all across the front of his chest and then down lower where it palmed his soft cock deliberately over his clothes before moving back up again, left Laurent’s skin burning in its wake. Laurent’s cheeks were flushed as he stared in the mirror, seeing only himself in it. 

The first time it had happened had been a totally benign incident, completely unintentional and caused Laurent no small amount of puzzlement. After a difficult day at the café, where two different customers had shouted at him and a third had spilled her drink on him, he had come home wishing he had a nice warm cup of chai, but feeling entirely too drained to summon the effort to make it. He had said the wish aloud then, muttering to himself as he strolled through his stark little apartment towards the bedroom. 

“I wish my chai latte would make itself.” He had said with a sorry sigh. 

When he came out from his shower, towel draped around his shoulders and the ends of his golden hair occasionally coalescing a droplet to fall to the floor, he spied the mug innocently sitting by the bedside table. He completely froze then for several minutes, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Drops of water falling onto the floorboards were the only sound that broke the silence. There was obviously no one else in the apartment. It was practically a shoebox, so there was no where to hide. Laurent carefully checked the cupboards anyway, then he wondered if he had finally lost his mind. Would stress do that? Or some kind of delayed PTSD? Make him forget that he had made a whole cup of tea? Whiffs of smoke curled and coiled into the air above the mug, pretty patterns that rose and dissipated, the familiar sight making it look all the more warm and inviting and exactly what he had wanted. Something creaked from the living room, probably just the neighbours upstairs walking or something; the ceilings were thin in this old 1960s apartment. As he cautiously reached out a hand to the familiar mug, his usual favourite mug, the heat from it stung his fingers. 

The second time was an accident. He had been idly thinking of the cute couple that came by the café every Friday, unable to keep their eyes from each other, or their hands. Laurent didn’t mean to watch them, but it was always so sweet and yet intense between the two, as if they were by themselves in a little bubble. Remembering them led to a yearning that pulled at something in his chest. He began wondering what it would feel like to love so freely or be loved so easily. Things would be simple and straightforward for them, for normal people. There was no doubt that Laurent is beautiful with his pale flawless skin and angled cheek bones framed by silky blond hair. Not a week went by at the cafe that someone did not comment on Laurent’s eyes. They were striking, they were blue as the endless skies, they were easy to be lost in. Whatever. Laurent simply couldn’t imagine trusting anyone enough for them to get to know him, didn’t know if it was at all possible for him. Even with the ones that Laurent had liked enough as a person, and they had approached him, he somehow found himself pushing them away with cold stares and curt words. 

Laurent stares in the mirror studying his reflection, the arc of a blond curl of hair positioned close to his right eye and his collar slightly turned in. He thinks he can see the loneliness in his blue eyes, and it turns his thoughts wistful. Childishly, he wishes there was someone who would touch him lovingly, kiss him softly and that with this imaginary someone, he would feel safe enough to reveal himself and allow himself to… to what? 

Laurent’s thoughts shuffle through impossible scenarios, ones that he would never let himself have because he didn’t want to try, didn’t want to trust and that the horror of his past had made it clear that it would always be a mistake. It didn’t stop him from wanting what he couldn’t have. Here within the confines of his mind, it would be safe. 

That is when the invisible caresses begin, slow and daring as it touches him intimately, the path it traces leaving Laurent’s skin hot and wanting. Laurent’s lips part, half in terror and half in arousal. His skin is still tingling where _it_ had touched him. The pounding of his heart starts as he looks around the room furtively for good measure but finds nothing. He decides to make a test. He needs to know if has gone mad or if this is real. _Touch me again._

Laurent gasps as the invisible hand splays at the front of his chest and then traces a different path downwards, going lower and lower, heading towards… _Stop!_ Laurent thought in his head. The hand stills and then lifts away from him. 

“That is… that is… not possible.” Laurent says aloud to himself, as he steps back haphazardly from the mirror. His traitorous mind however, launches itself into fantasy upon fantasy where someone would strip him out of his clothes, lay hands on him and claim him lovingly, possessively, would worship every part of his body before making Laurent surrender to the hot liquid act of pleasure after pleasure. His mind seizes upon itself, frozen as a deer in headlights, as he realises he had been making a ‘wish’ and that thought collides with the sudden understanding that wishes come true in this apartment. _No no no! That wasn’t what I meant._ Laurent thought desperately as he continued stepping backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he half fell and half sat down. His cock was half hard between his thighs and the realisation makes his cheeks warm. Desperately, he tries to gain control of himself, to exert his mind on his body like he always does.

“Ok, this is… I will just…” Laurent says to himself. Just what? Just go away and pretend nothing happened? _It is exactly what you wanted_ , his mind supplies to him unhelpfully. Somewhere along the floorboards a creak sounded out. It is an old apartment and noises are to be expected, but in that moment, it sounds as if… as if someone is talking to him. Laurent stares at his boots, and at his formal work clothes that he hadn’t yet removed since he got home and wonders if he should use his hand to try to relieve his body’s needs on the rare occasion that he might want something at all. As Laurent contemplates between fleeing the house or undressing himself to… try, a large warm palm presses against the side of his boot, and he flinches from the contact. His heart is sent into panicked turmoil again.

It’s a question. Laurent doesn’t know how he knows that, just that he knows, and he doesn’t want to answer. He thinks about the feeling of his chest tight with the hammering and looks out the window where the sky is darkening and bathing the room in soft sunset-colored lights. 

_Yes._

Laurent doesn’t say it aloud, that would feel too much like admitting to something, especially since a part of him still thinks he should flee, that he should be frightened like a normal person would. But perhaps the horrors of his childhood had given him a new perspective, and furthermore there is nothing sinister he could feel here in his own apartment. Instead, there is the supreme feeling of being cared for, of his wishes being followed entirely and exactly as he wants, with the bonus of not even having to voice them in words. It just wouldn’t be an accident this time.

The laces on his right boot begin undoing themselves, slowly and methodically, the lace pulling out of the eyelets over and over, and then the whole boot is pulled off. Hands cup the bottom of his feet as a sock drops to the floor. It is surreal to watch this all happening to him, like it is some horror film or some dream. He gasps as a lingering kiss lands on inside of his ankle, and a flush spreads from his chest. He feels nervous, his shoulders tensing up automatically and his body stiffening, but also daring that this is happening, that he is allowing this to happen. If it is not a dream, then he will tempt fate and see what happens. 

His left boot comes off in a similar fashion, and the repeated movements make him anticipate the kiss on the left ankle, wanting it and brazenly wishing it. As if in answer, a tap sounds out from the windows as it usually would if the wind had been blowing particularly hard. Lips press against his left ankle and then suck a bruise there, and again on the other side of his ankle. Laurent stands up on his bare feet and watch as the buttons of his shirt begin undoing themselves in the mirror. When all the buttons are undone, Laurent thinks of his shirt sliding off his arms, falling to the floor, and he has a sudden image of himself standing in front of the mirror, entirely naked in front of an audience. It shocks the breath out of him and his chest feels constricted as if someone had reached in and strangled his heart with bare hands. 

The undressing stops and for a moment nothing happens. Laurent is grateful as he uses the time to keep his mind focused on the present. He breathes again. In and out. And again. _Okay_ , he thinks. A large warm palm slides inside his shirt, slow, slowly rubbing up and down, the thumb catching on his nipple once and then again as it makes its way down. Laurent has to stifle the surprised sound that threatens to leave his lips. Everything is slow, careful but deliberate, the stroking of his nipple is at even regular intervals. Laurent could say stop at any moment. Should. But he doesn’t. The pinching of his nipple begins with gentle rolling between fingers, the pressure increasing slightly and then slightly again, and then before he realises, he is moaning, his head turned away from the mirror. The rest of his shirt is tugged away, falling to the ground, and he doesn’t care because there is a warm and wet sensation on his other nipple, and two large hands are hooked around the small of his back. He can feel warm breath tickling against his chest and it makes him breathe out audibly. 

Lost in the slow exquisite torture that is making him shiver with arousal, Laurent doesn’t notice his belt being undone and his pants unzipped. He only realises when his pants begin sliding down, and understanding comes with a rush of horror. _Wait, wait!_ Everything stops and Laurent tries to remember how to think with his mind viscous as honey and so out of it with desire. He wants. He wants it so much, and it feels wrong. In the mirror, he can see himself half undressed, the flush spread from chest to cheek and his cock obviously hard and bulging against his pants. He can feel it throb and leak and he wants nothing more than to have someone, this person, it, whoever it was to touch it. He imagines what it would feel like, fingers curling around his cock warm and tight, staying exactly like that denying him of any friction until Laurent thrusts himself into the hand, implicitly begging for it. 

The rest of his pants slide down as Laurent, unable to help himself, makes no objection. Both his ankles are held lightly as he is encouraged to step out of his pants. Laurent does. The touching begins again. At first, slowly up the back of his legs, then down his calves, and then lips replace hands, going up and up on the inside of his thigh. It feels endless and all over at once and he closes his eyes to savour the feeling of being touched and being wanted, of being kissed as if his body is the most important thing. Both his ass cheeks are squeezed over his briefs as lips ghost over his front, over where he is hard and aching. Laurent wants to yank the rest of his clothes down in a moment of abandonment, but all of him feels frozen unable to do anything but experience it all. 

There is a moment where nothing happens for a while, and then everything does. Hands dip under his briefs behind him and squeezes, hard this time and it makes Laurent moan out wantonly in an unsteady breath, the first real sound that he did not manage to stifle in time. He drops his head onto his chest, and then whimpers as the hands leave him to pull the rest of his briefs down. There is no more touching for a few long seconds and Laurent distresses in a different way. He wants those hands back on him, wants the touches to resume. It is humiliating exactly how much he wants it and that in a few more seconds he will probably beg for it. It is humiliating that he is letting god knows what ravish him like that. 

A hand tips up his chin and Laurent dazed, is entirely unprepared when soft lips meet his, kissing him fully and deeply on the mouth. All thought is chased out of his mind as reality keeps him confined to the present and bends him all soft and pliant. The kiss is hot, hard and claiming, teeth grazing along his lower lip and then a tongue thrusting in to meet his own tongue. It is a kiss delivered with an utmost desire driving like hot pursuit. There is no time to think. Laurent lets it all happen to him, his hands useless at his sides.

Everything changes when Laurent starts kissing back. The first tip of his tongue darting out makes the kiss stop a little, and that is when the warm, naked body presses against his front and arms encircle him, holding him close and tight. Laurent gasps into the kiss, and tries to keep up, mouthing at the lower lip and tilting his head to get a better angle. His neck arches to provide more room as the lips trail down his chin to his neck, hotly devouring as if it too is hurtling down a path of no return. The hands are insistent now, and not at all slow or soft. If Laurent could see those hands, it would probably look obscene, rubbing the length of his body, squeezing his ass, a finger between and rubbing at the rim. 

The sound that rings out registers first before the actual sensation as a stab of arousal almost buckles his knees. It would have if it weren’t for the fact that he was being held. Laurent’s first thought is that he didn’t think it. He didn’t want it. But he had, and he did. Shame fills him as the stinging on his ass dwindles down to a tingling and he turns his face aside. A finger brushes against his lower lip as he realises that he had bitten down hard on it. It kissed him again, slowly, gently as a palm soothes his left ass cheek. The window thuds again. 

Worrying, that’s what it’s doing, worrying about him. Laurent almost cries with the amalgamation of conflicting feelings that rise up within him. It seems to resolve to give Laurent better warning this time, holding Laurent to its chest and pressing him there with one arm, with the other hand caressing his right ass cheek. Then the hand is moving away and landing back down on him, gentler this time. Laurent moans and whimpers into the chest. _Again_ , he thinks and presses his shaking hands against himself in anticipation. 

When Laurent stops them to look at his ass in the mirror, it is red with palm marks. Large hands, like a man’s, is all Laurent can think of, before he is literally lifted into the air, his legs dangling as he yelps, and then is placed on the bed. His knees are propped up and he wonders how it would look if someone were to walk into the room. There he is, naked on his bed, his cock upright and throbbing, his knees spread and all of him on display. Laurent clenches the sheets in both fists. The phial of oil lands with a plop on the bed, and Laurent, head turned to one side, sees it and picks it up. The intention is clear. Laurent is to finger himself open while he, it, whoever it is, watches. He should say no. He should stop this whole thing before it goes too far. He is going to be fucked by an invisible ghost if this continues. Laurent opens the bottle of oil with trembling fingers. 

Laurent can’t help the little noises that churn out of his throat as he fingers himself. He hasn’t done this too often so it is awkward, but it is made all the more heady by the knowledge that he is being watched and obviously with pleasure as the increasingly unsteady pressure that are pressing his thighs apart are any indication to go by. A hand grabs onto his and gently pulls his fingers out. Laurent stifles back a moan with the loss of sensation, but not for long as fingers are pressing in, and they are thick and long, and it feels more because they’re not Laurent’s. He chokes a gasp out against the sheets as his cock throbs and leaks onto his stomach, and then it turns into a cry as the fingers curl within him. Laurent wants more now. He doesn’t care how it looks to anyone anymore. He wants to be filled and he wants to come, and he doesn’t care how or by whom. 

A hand is braced steady at the juncture of hip and thigh and Laurent speaks his consent this time, aloud though in barely a whisper. It is all he can manage. 

“ _Yes…_ ” 

Laurent’s lips part but no sound leaves him as something fills him up, large and wide inside of him, pressing against him and stretching him. It leans over then, pressing the front of their bodies together and kisses Laurent once, twice and then once more on the neck, and then waits. There is an anxious feeling about it. Laurent feels more than okay. He doesn’t care if it hurts. 

Brokenly, Laurent whimpers another, “ _Yes…_ ” and then the rocking begins, slow gentle nudges until Laurent’s body relaxes around it and his fists unclench. Then the pace picks up, and it turns into a regular thrusting rhythm that grows. It’s good. It’s so good. Laurent can’t do more than take whatever he’s given, his knees pressed on to his chest as he’s fucked deep and hard. His mind is singularly chasing after the mind-numbing pleasure, especially when the thrusting hits a sweet spot and he feels like a puddle of liquid. It is like that Salvador Dali’s painting where reality is melting. Everything Laurent is sure of is melting away and reforming into a different kind of truth. Time itself is melting into nothing and everything. 

Laurent is crazed with need and he wants blindly, his thoughts groping on to something for purchase, not knowing that what he wants is for his cock to be touched, to be stroked and caressed and to be brought to the peak. Before the thought fully forms, fingers wrap themselves around where he needs it most and Laurent almost cries with being so close to climax. It feels inevitable now. Between the thrusting and the stroking that move along in tandem, the growing pressure that builds within him is suddenly released in wet streaks across his abdomen. There is one last thrust inside him and he can do nothing but experience it all and hold on to the feeling. 

As Laurent turns onto his side, he can feel something wet trickling out of his ass and he feels like he can’t breathe through the panic that rises up. It is a false feeling though, as when he presses his own fingers to himself, there is nothing there. Long moments pass before Laurent comes back to himself, enough to remember the shame of what he had done, what he had _willingly_ asked for. He puts a hand on his chest only to find that it is clean, feeling just slightly damp with water and he is covered up to the chin with the thin blanket on his bed. He has no recollection of the last couple of minutes whatsoever and it triggers another round of pounding in his chest that is only soothed when a large warm body surrounds his back and spoons him. Arms curl around him and a warm breath tickles his neck. Laurent can feel his face heating up, but gives up all thought of questioning anything further that night in favour of sleep. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to regret anything. The lights switch themselves off as cool night air smelling faintly of the sea breeze in from the open windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is more of their back story, why Damen is the way he is, and how the two of them meet in person. More plot, less porn.


	2. Chapter 2

The first rays of morning light filter in through the window and Laurent, having always been sensitive to light, shifts slightly in response. One of the first things he becomes conscious on upon waking is the soreness in his body at strange places, making him wince as he stretches his limbs. Memory is a capricious thing, at once deserting you when you require it, at once teasing you with little edges of knowledge, yet elusive when you chase after it. In Laurent’s case, after several minutes of confusion, the full consciousness of what had occurred last night crashes upon him all at once, the weight of the knowledge pinning him to the mattress and squeezing the air out of him. All the space in his chest is taken up by one very uncomfortable feeling – regret. 

_Fuck_. 

If he had been able to move his limbs, he might have curled on his side, burying into himself and cried, but the memory just leaves him horrified and unable to react. Distantly, he hopes it had all been a dream, but that is a tall ask and Laurent isn’t fond of lying to himself. Eventually, he clears his mind meticulously of any thought except the university classes he will have today, reciting in his head random authors’ names, book titles and snippets of readings that he had recently went through. When he runs out of things to recite, he starts them all over again, the words falling into a steady rhythm as he dresses, showers and then gingerly walks out of the bedroom. 

His steps come to a complete halt as he sees what is before him on the kitchen table. A mug. Of black tea. Had he been thinking that? Of course he had, he realises too late in dismay. For as long as he can remember, he had always had a cup of black tea in the morning, and so it was that even before it had registered in his mind, he had been looking forward to the warm, bitter taste swirling about his tongue.

“Oh no… no no NO!” Laurent says aloud as he is overtaken by the urge to flee the apartment. He grabs his backpack and keys, yanks open the front door, and then he has to stop again. It is as if the universe is conspiring against him, for over the corridor railings the sky is hideously pouring out a torrent of rain interspersed with gusty winds that the city had been denied for over a month. Irritation furrows his brows as he thinks about going back to his room to get a rain jacket, but there was no other choice. Laurent drops his backpack and shuts the door, turning back in. On the back of the kitchen chair directly behind where the cup of tea is placed, there is his black hooded jacket draped over the backing. Not where he had last left it. Laurent sets his mouth stubbornly and feels irrationally angry, deciding instead to wear a different jacket. He doesn’t look at the kitchen table as he picks up his bag again and slams the door behind him. The refrigerator seemed to hum a little softer or a little sadder, and Laurent insists to himself that that is just what machines do every now and then. 

Outside the house, Laurent feels immediately lighter, like he’s walked out of a trap, out of scrutiny, and he can be a nobody again. This jacket, however, is an older one and he recalls now why he doesn’t like it. There is a hole somewhere at the back of the neck, and he can feel the rain getting in and soaking into his shirt. Ordinarily, if it had just been a drizzle, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the rain is simply ridiculous. It will not do. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to focus his mind properly anyway, Laurent gives up on going to the university and instead heads to the local library that is the closest shelter and also his familiar safe haven. 

As he pushes the doors open, he sees one of the librarians shelving books near the entrance. 

“Hey Laurent,” Jord calls out from the children’s fiction section. Laurent attempts to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. 

“Jord.” He greets him. Laurent knows all the librarians by name here because he’s always asking for some book or other, searching for some obscure reference or some new title. He likes them all, as he supposes they share a common interest with him. Jord is the one that is closest to him in age and also the most friendly, proudly informing Laurent of all the newest additions to the library without Laurent even having to ask. 

“You look tired.” Jord says with some concern. Laurent grunts in reply and doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t even slow in his walking. He feels only slightly guilty as Jord is good about him like that, he doesn’t mind Laurent being out of sorts every now and then, doesn’t pressure him to have to stop and chat. Laurent finds an empty cubicle, not difficult at this early hour, and then sits down and pulls out his laptop and a few books in his bag. He could read, or he could work on the assignment that is nearly finished, or… 

Laurent sighs to himself and presses his palms to his eyes. He wants to cry to himself and feel sorry and stupid. He wants Auguste to be here so he can ask him what to do. He tries to think. What would Auguste say to him? 

Laurent conjures up an image of Auguste. He would be in tattered jeans, as it was the fashion at that time, his dark brown hair unruly and falling over his face, and he would swipe at it frequently in one of those gestures that he’s never aware of. Auguste would look at Laurent with knowing eyes, figuring out that Laurent is not alright even when he says he is. He would ask Laurent directly if he wants to talk, he would say it carefully, that he’s here whenever Laurent wants him. Laurent would tell him, not initially, it would take all of Auguste’s patience to coax everything out of Laurent, but Auguste is endless patience. And then afterwards Auguste would look at him…maybe with a horrified expression, maybe reeling back with disgust, maybe entirely walking away, or maybe he would question Laurent’s sanity, which is just as bad. _NO!_ Laurent shuts off the image of Auguste quickly and stop his thoughts there. 

Resolutely, he pulls out his laptop and decides to work on his assignment. After about fifteen minutes of half-hearted reading, Laurent gives up and decides to put it aside. What he really wants to do, is find out who is haunting the apartment he is living in, and when he finds out, he is going to give him a piece of his mind. Or destroy his grave. 

The first thing he does is search through his rental lease agreement for the name of the owner. The name is signed as ‘D. Akeilos’, which might not mean anything as it could have been someone who used to rent the property that died. Nevertheless, Laurent searches on the internet for this name. ‘D. Akeilos’ doesn’t come up with anything except ‘Kastor Akeilos’ and the commercial archaeology company that Kastor owns. Laurent doesn’t know what commercial archaeology means, so he looks that up too. Apparently, their work consists of state-sanctioned archaeological survey and excavation for land development and other construction. If nothing else, then Laurent at least learnt a new thing today. ‘D. Akeilos’ could be an uncle, a brother, or any relative. Nothing else comes up when Laurent searches the news. Laurent turns his search to ghosts, and tries ‘ghosts in Madison town’ next. There is some news about a woman who hurt herself during Halloween because some boys had scared her so badly that she tripped and fell. Not what he is looking for. Laurent scrolls and scrolls, past the advertisements of haunted houses in amusement parks, and Halloween costumes in Madison town, and then something catches his eye. He reads the whole article carefully. 

There is a girl from his university – University of Madison – who had quit her studies abruptly rambling about a ghost in her apartment. Most of the article is about mental health and the stresses of university exams, how universities can facilitate help and so on, but it is the closest thing he could find. Her name is Maisie and the article is dated two years ago. Laurent packs up his bags and then walks to the front of the desk. 

“Hey Jord.” Laurent called out.

“What’s up?” Jord grinned cheerfully, looking up from his computer. 

“Um, do you know about any news or stories about ghost sightings in this town?” 

“Actually making the news or fiction?” Jord asked. 

“Um, news or rumours.”

“There is a history of Madison book, so that could give you anything historical –”

“No, something more recent. Like in the last 10 years.” 

“Hmm. You could try searching our digital archives. It’s a new project, we just finished scanning all the newspapers we have in the system. It only has material on the last 5 years though.” 

“Right.” Laurent nodded. “That could work.”

“Great!” Jord beamed, “Last time somebody asked about that, I couldn’t give them anything. It’s good to have the newspapers in digital form now.” 

Laurent feels his smile freeze. “Who asked about it?” 

“A girl. A university student, like you. I don’t know, it was a while back.” 

“When?”

“I couldn’t say.” Jord sounded apologetic. 

“This year?” 

“No, definitely not.”

“More than 5 years ago?”

“No I don’t think so…” Jord’s brows furrowed as he frowned. “Definitely not more than 5 years ago.” He says assuredly.

Laurent goes back to his desk, opens his laptop and pulls up the university’s library page, navigating to the digital archives. It takes a while to search in the right location, and he has to click through all sorts of useless information. No, he doesn’t want the library opening hours, or the traditional catalogue. Not the workshops and tours, and not the alumni services either. There – it is under ‘Digitised Collections’.

He finds it. There is a longer article about the girl, Maisie. In this article, she is quoted as saying, “When I wish for something, it just happens.” Laurent holds his breath as he reads that, and then greedily consumes the rest of the article. _South street_. The words almost seem to leap out at him, as his heart hammers in his chest. He inadvertently pushes his chair backwards in an attempt to escape his laptop. The girl lived on South street, same as him! The revelation feels both significant and insufficient, and Laurent runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. The good news is that it now seems less likely that he’s gone mad, but the question of who is haunting his apartment still remains an open one. 

By noon, the rain has stopped and Laurent sits through two back to back lectures that leave him feeling exhausted. It isn’t the material – syntactic analysis is actually quite interesting -, it is the paying attention to the lecture and pondering about his apartment at the same time that drains his energy. Laurent has never believed in supernatural things before this, so it is strange to verify that ghosts indeed exist. The alternative is that somehow he is still making up all of it in his head and Laurent’s thoughts circle round and round to try to figure out whether that is the case or not. 

When Laurent walks the usual twenty minute route to get home, he finds suddenly that every step feels fraught and dread surrounds him like a river current flowing in the opposite direction. Laurent soldiers on until he is standing by the front of his door, and he’s practically hyperventilating by then. Finally, he thinks hysterically, he’s feeling the fear that he should have felt in the first place. 

There is not much else to do but fish for his keys in his pocket, not unless he wants to sleep out in the open. His hands go through the familiar motion of unlocking the door, and then he pushes it with his fingertips to swing within. The unoiled hinges give out a screech that makes Laurent jump, and his heart thuds audibly against his chest. But nothing else happens, the kitchen table has been cleared, and everything looks the same as he had come to expect. He steps in carefully, flicking his eyes around, and then shuts the door behind him. Nothing happens.

Laurent drops his things on the floor and then heads to the shower, carefully thinking of nothing in particular. For the rest of the night, nothing unusual occurs. It was a particularly warm night – Madison weather is strange like that - and Laurent had thrown off all his blankets. He tossed about uncomfortably, trying to summon the will to get up to open the windows. But when he does, he finds that they were already open and that he must have done that before he went to bed. Half-asleep and annoyed at himself, Laurent stumbles back to bed and forgets it all by morning.

The next week passes uneventfully, and Laurent stops censoring his thoughts so much as it is far too exhausting. He spends his days going to classes, working cafe shifts, and researching at the library for more information on his… ghostly situation. Nothing new turns up. He had written to the real estate agency, asking if he could meet with the landlord, but the agent doesn’t respond to that. He had also tried asking all the neighbours in the block, but the same rumours turn up, that a girl had called his unit haunted once and that no one wanted to stay there anymore. Hence, why the rent is so cheap. 

Meanwhile, the wall of silence continues at his apartment. No more knocks and shifts and random creaks. It’s just so fucking silent that Laurent doesn’t know what to do anymore. He starts to feel like it’s his fault, like he had been the one to start the morose silence. The whole apartment feels crammed and depressing, as he microwaves leftovers for dinner and nibbles at it in silence. Laurent feels more alone than ever, even though he never thought that way when he first moved in. When he decides that he can’t finish the food after all, Laurent grabs the takeaway container and dumps the whole lot into the bin, and then washes up his utensils. He glances at where he’s kept the teabags and then sighs and says aloud, “It would be nice if you made me a cup of tea.” 

Nothing happens. Laurent tries not to feel the disappointment that pools in his stomach. “I suppose I deserve it.” He mutters to himself as he walks away from the sink. 

Then he sees it. 

There, by the coffee table next to the couch is a mug of steaming hot tea. Laurent bites back the smile that tugs at his lips and settles into the couch, warming his hands with the mug. 

“Who are you?” He asks aloud.

There is no answer. 

“Okay. One knock for yes and two for no. Are you… here?” 

A tap sounds from the nearest window. 

“Okay,” Laurent says to himself. “Are you… dead?”

Two taps. 

Laurent frowns in confusion and takes another sip out of his hot tea. 

“Do you know Maisie?” 

One tap. 

“Are you the ghost she’s talking about?”

One tap. Obviously. Laurent already knew that one. He shouldn’t ask dumb questions. 

“Can you tell the future?” 

Two taps, accompanied by a rumble from somewhere. Laughter. Laurent smiles a little. 

“Can you tell me the answers to my exam questions?”

Two taps, and more rumbling. 

“I don’t need them anyway, I’m very smart.” He says. 

A successive series of creaks. Laurent grins. 

“Are you… alive?”

One tap. And then two taps. 

“Sort of?” 

One tap. It doesn’t make any sense, but Laurent carries on anyway.

“Do you grant wishes?”

One tap. 

Laurent cocks his head, “Do you like granting wishes?”

One tap.

“I wish my tea turned into sand.” 

Nothing happened. Interesting, Laurent thinks. “Is that because… there is no sand in this house?”

One tap, and a creak confirms his theory.

“Are you human?” He asks without thinking. 

One tap.

Obviously. And Laurent blushes as he _remembers_. His ghost is not only human, it has quite a specific gender too. It is the afterwards that come to mind now, that he finds, somewhat embarrassingly, that he likes remembering - the warm embrace of large strong arms behind his back, a gentle breath at the back of his neck, an overwhelming feeling of being cared for. Feeling self-conscious, Laurent says aloud, “You and I are going to set some rules, otherwise I am going to ignore you forever. If you understand me, say so now.”

One tap. The corners of Laurent’s lips curve up. 

The apartment returns to its usual state of random creaks and noises, settling right in with the occasional humming of the fridge or the water heater. Laurent is starting to understand how to listen. The key is to note whether the sound comes before or after something he says. Like when he enters the apartment and says, “Hello,” there is always an answering series of clicks from the door. Sometimes the clicks occur even before he’s said anything, so he’s learnt to say “Hello,” after that. The first time he had responded, a rumbling sounds out that Laurent has come to know as a happy rumbling. Imagining that his ghost might be lonely being stuck in an apartment where Laurent is usually out for most of the time, Laurent begins chattering to him when he is home, asking him random questions (“Strawberry or Vanilla ice-cream? Makes sense, you’re a vanilla sort of guy aren’t you?”). There is always the same happy rumbling response, as if it is eager for Laurent to speak. So Laurent complains about his café job, tells him all the gossip at his classes. He reads his readings aloud and thinks aloud for all of his assignments. 

Three weeks later, Laurent accidentally finds what he has been looking for. It happened when he was searching the university catalogue for additional research for one of his linguistics classes, and instead of typing what he actually wanted to search for, he had typed in ‘Akielos’ into the search box. 

Damianos Akeilos, so it seems, is an early career research archaeologist who worked at the university of Madison, brother to Kastor Akeilos, the one that owned the commercial archaeology company. He was part of a group that published research on some sort of native American tribe. As Laurent searches and collates all his research, he finds that they were mainly centred on traditional rituals and ritualistic objects. Suddenly, Laurent realises he had never even asked the question once, whether or not his ghost is indeed this ‘D. Akeilos’. He shuts his laptop and races home. Laurent is breathless and wheezing by the time he crosses the threshold of the apartment, and he has to lean on the kitchen table for support.

A few creaks and clicks sound all at once. Laurent thinks there is a mixture of meanings there, but doesn’t ponder further on it. 

“Are you – are you Damianos?” He asks. 

Silence. Laurent tries to recover his breath while he waits. And then a single thud sounds against the window. Laurent’s jaw falls slack, as he quickly sifts his mind for what to ask next. 

“Are you – is this something to do with your work?” 

One tap. 

“Are you… you said… that you’re not dead, and you don’t know if you’re alive.” Laurent says, and the natural conclusion to that sounds incredulous in his ears. He asks it anyway. “Are you… stuck?” 

One tap. 

“Oh my god!” Laurent exclaims, “Can I – what can I do?” 

No answer. Idiot, Laurent chided himself, he can’t answer that. 

“Can I help you?” 

One tap and then two taps. It’s a maybe. 

Laurent skips all of his classes the next week and he feels a little guilt at that. He had been a little bit ahead and now he’ll lose all that. Laurent spends hours and hours cataloguing all of Damianos’ papers, diligently writing down the names of each of his collaborators and the topics covered. Most of his collaborators are here at the local university, so Laurent visits the Department of Archaeology in order to speak to them. 

None of them can tell him anything useful except that Damianos went missing four years ago, and that his family had decided it was a suicide. All his colleagues had said there had been no indication, that he wasn’t depressed or sick and was happy with his work. He had started studying something new, and was full of enthusiasm for his work. When Laurent asked if it was on ritualistic objects, one of his colleagues, Nikandros, said no, that he had turned away from studying that topic several months before he died. Nikandros seemed the most visibly upset to be talking about Damianos, so Laurent decides to quiz him further. 

“Do you know much about his family?”

At this, Nikandros grows suspicious. “I thought you were interested in his research.”

“Yes I am, but I only just realised that he went – he committed suicide, and I was just thinking about how upsetting it must be for his family.” Laurent covered smoothly. 

“Right, yes,” Nikandros relaxes. “His parents were very upset, but he has never been on good terms with his brother, Kastor.” Nikandros looks away, as if he feels like he’s not suppose to say these things. He glances at his computer and fidgets in his seat and then purses his lips together. “I know that it’s probably nothing, but Damianos and Kastor never really got along, and the week before he died, Kastor was coming to our office every other day.”

“That does sound strange.” Laurent says. 

Nikandros looks contrite immediately, “I’m not accusing his brother of anything, so please, please don’t think that’s what I’m saying. It’s just – we were in the same office for so long, it was difficult for me when he just –” 

“I’m so sorry…” Laurent says, feeling like he had upset the young researcher. 

“I – it’s fine.” But Nikandros doesn’t look that fine. Laurent spies a small photograph of two young faces taped at the bottom corner of a cork board filled with more photographs of archaeology sites and close-ups of dirty looking objects. One of the faces is a young Nikandros, and the other one has brown curls falling over his forehead, a warm laughter in his brown eyes. The two of them had been close, Laurent suddenly realises, as he notes how the two faces are cheek to cheek. 

“Is that… him?” Laurent points. 

“Yeah, that’s him, bloody bastard.” Nikandros says fondly. “I don’t believe he committed suicide.” He adds, “I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe now.” But he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

“Were you…together?” Laurent can’t help his curiosity. Instantly, he regrets the question. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Nikandros seems to be surprised at being asked a personal question, but not particularly offended. A slight frown decorates his forehead as he hesitates to speak. 

“That is an inappropriate question, I am so sorry.” Laurent says nervously. 

Seemingly mollified, Nikandros says, “No, we were not dating.” He chuckles suddenly, “He would have laughed to hear you say that. His tastes are – ” Nikandros stares at Laurent for a bit before coughing and turning away. “But yes that is him. Always the life of the party, somehow seems to know everyone and everything. Everyone considered him their friend, but I like to think I was one of his closest friends at the university.” There is a pause and then Nikandros asks Laurent, “I suppose you’re one of the PhD students in the department?” 

“I am a student, yes.” Laurent says, thinking to himself that it is not strictly a lie. Feeling like he has to explain himself, he adds, “I don’t mean to probe. I just, have been reading all of his papers, so it is nice to know more about the… man who wrote them.” 

“Yes, I find myself curious like that too.” Nikandros says warmly, “Who is your thesis advisor?”

Suddenly aware that he had stayed far longer than he initially intended, he gathers his things, and says, “I’m so sorry to take up so much of your time, uh Dr. Nikandros. I actually have another class now. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, see you around.” Nikandros says. 

Back at home, Laurent requests his usual cup of tea and sinks into the couch exhausted. He rolls his shoulders tiredly and stretches his neck from side to side, thinking about all he had found out that day. 

Fingers press against his shoulder blades and Laurent stills. He doesn’t move and Damianos hands freeze. It’s the first time Damianos has touched him since that night and Laurent has been careful to set boundaries between them. It all went along amicably, so much so that Laurent had almost forgotten what it felt like – being touched by him. Laurent doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think anything, and it is Damianos who moves first, gently massaging his back. Laurent knows he can say stop. He should, but he doesn’t. He lets Damianos massage his back and says, “Ow,” when he hits the spot that has been hurting. The fingers press against the same spot, and Laurent says louder this time, “Ow!” There is a determined creak from the floorboards and the pressure lessens but still they press firmly against that spot. If Damianos is here in person, Laurent thinks he will punch him somewhere that will make him ache like this. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” Laurent says, shifting himself. Feeling that his shoulders now actually feel freer, he adds awkwardly, “Thank you.”

The fingers fall away and Laurent, not knowing how he feels about it all, decides to head to bed early and entirely forgets to ask Damianos the questions he had meant to. There is no time for it in the morning, as Laurent has to work two shifts at the café that day and he really needs to finish the assignment that he hadn’t been paying much attention to. By the time he returns home, it is late in the night and Laurent can barely keep his eyes open.

“I want to ask you questions, but I’m so tired.” He says aloud. There is an answering click somewhere just as Laurent spies a cup of tea for him. 

“Thank you.” He takes a sip gratefully, and feels the warm liquid roll soothingly down his throat. Everything feels better with warm tea. Laurent walks into his bedroom and simply throws himself down on his stomach on top of the covers. He is vaguely aware that someone is taking his boots off for him, but he doesn’t care at this point and simply burrows further into the pillows once his feet are freed. The lights switch themselves off and Laurent is hardly cognizant, as by then he had grown used to the fact that Damianos does that for him sometimes. There are some perks to living with a ghost after all. 

The next day is Saturday and simultaneously a day where Laurent has no classes and no café shifts – a rare occurrence for usually these are mutually exclusive events. Laurent wakes up and makes his own tea (“I want to make it myself.” He had said stubbornly) as he phrases the question he wants to ask Damianos in his head. 

“Is Kastor to blame for your…situation?” 

Two taps. 

Not a good question, Laurent realises, as Damianos would only provide a biased view. There is a very indignant sounding murmur.

“Were you working on a project with Kastor before you… became like this?”

One tap. 

“Well it sounds like he is to blame.” Laurent comments. “What were you working on?” It is more of a lead in to his next question, as he knows that Damianos wouldn’t be able to answer it this way. He pulls out his notebook and begins to read out topic names. 

“Tap if it’s related to what you were working on.” 

A couple of minutes later, Laurent exclaims, “Not helping!” and frowns as he leans himself back against the couch. Damianos had tapped on pretty much every item. Two fingers tug at his lips, trying to turn his frown into a smile. 

“Stop it!” He says but smiles anyway. “I’m trying to think. How the fuck did you get yourself into this? You must be the unluckiest soul of the century.” He says. 

Laurent thinks aloud, “Okay, you were working on some archaeology find.” He pauses, making that the statement into a question.

One tap. 

“Whatever you found did something weird to you.”

One tap. 

“That thing… is still in this house!” Laurent’s eyes widen as the realisation opens a realm of possibilities. He waits for a tap of confirmation, and after an agony of silence, it comes. One tap. 

Laurent leaps out of the couch. “Okay. Where?” He demands. 

“In the living room.”

Two taps. 

“In the kitchen.” Laurent strides determinedly across the floor towards the small kitchen nook.

Two taps. 

Laurent stops and spins a hundred and eighty degrees. “Bedroom,” He says, walking towards the bedroom.

One tap. 

“Bathroom?” He peers into the ensuite.

Two taps. 

“Okay, not bathroom, but somewhere in your bedroom.”

The bedroom is small and has enough space for the double bed, two bedside tables and that is pretty much it. A wall of in-built wardrobe line half of a wall at the far side, and then there is a counter beside it. There are windows to the right above another wall and the ensuite is to the left. 

“The bed?” Laurent asks. 

Two taps.

“This wall?” Laurent indicates the wall along where the ensuite is. 

Two taps.

“Near the windows?” 

Two taps.

“The cupboards.”

One tap. 

Laurent’s eyes light up and he grins triumphantly. But it takes over an hour more before he is able to narrow it down. By then, he had taken out all his meagre possessions and clothes and dumped them all on the bed, and still, when Laurent indicates one of the back drawers, Damianos keeps saying yes. 

After a few more back and forth questions, Laurent is kicking himself for not realising it sooner. 

“I need to take a hammer and knock a hole in the wall behind this wardrobe. Is that right?”

One tap. 

“Argh. You can’t just make it easy, can you?” Laurent groans and sits himself on the floor, dropping his forehead on his knees. “Conjure me a hammer.” He complains, and a rumble and a click sound out together. 

“You – you better be real, otherwise, I won’t get any of my rental bond back and that is a thousand bucks I can’t afford.” He says sternly, knowing that there is no other choice for him. He can’t just _leave_ Damianos here, if it’s even possible that he can somehow release him. Arms suddenly encircle him in a spontaneous cocoon of warmth. 

“Oh!” Laurent breathes, at once so surprised that he doesn’t say anything. It feels – nice. “Alright then,” He concedes softly.

After lunch, Laurent heads out and brings home a newly-bought hammer. 

“Before I start, tell me I got all the right tools.”

One tap. 

“You’re sure you want me to do this?”

One tap.

“Alright, here goes nothing.” 

Some time later, Laurent is covered in dust and coughing in it. The drawers have all been taken out and the shelving is broken down. 

“Why does it have to be the drawers? Why can’t it be over there, at the hanging space, where nothing is in the way?” Laurent says rhetorically. There is a low rumbling noise, maybe like an apologetic murmur. 

After Laurent clears out the remains of the shelving, he begins to hammer at the back of the wardrobe there. Beads of sweat run down the side of his face as his arms start to ache, but the back of the wardrobe is considerably stronger than shelving and does not give much. When it finally breaks, it makes Laurent trip forward, hitting his forehead on something, as he had stopped paying attention by then, mindlessly hammering away. The hole reveals a compartment that is loosely covered by a thin board. Laurent uses his hands to pull the thin board apart. 

“Ow!” He exclaims, and yanks his hand back as something sharp cuts him. 

There are glass pieces, and all sorts of what looks like broken ceramic in the little alcove that runs along the whole of the wall. Only one object is whole, and it is a faded red and gold vase partly encrusted with some sort of rock material. It seems that once upon a time the glaze would have rendered it shining and delicately beautiful. The whole thing is no taller than a small book. 

“Is this it?” Laurent asks.

One tap, and a lot of creaking all at once. Damianos is excited. Laurent sets the vase down on the bedside table after pushing everything off it in one sweep and stands back looking at it.

“How do I get you out?” He says. “Should I break it?” 

One tap and then two taps. Yes, no, maybe. It seems like Damianos doesn’t know the answer either. Laurent looks at his bleeding hand and starts to go get something for it, but turns and finds that the box of bandaids with different sizes have all been laid out neatly on his bed. Damianos is not only thoughtful, he is also quick to act. He washes his wound with soap and water and then dries it before selecting a bandaid that would fit. 

Laurent’s bedroom is a mess and he desperately hopes there aren’t going to be rental inspections anytime soon. “I’m trying to save the landlord and bring him back to life” is probably going to land him in the psychiatric hospital. Nevertheless, he pushes the rubble to one side as much as he can and vacuums the rest of room with Damianos’ help. He changes the sheets so he doesn’t have to sleep on a layer of dust, and push all his belongings to one side of the bed.

Laurent goes back to Nikandros on Monday after work. He prepares to feel extremely silly and to be thrown out or laughed at as he asks him a question he thinks a child more suited to ask. 

“Is there any mention of um, genie bottles in the um, ritualistic objects?” 

Nikandros looks at him oddly, but it is mild compared to the reaction Laurent had been expecting. “Not really. Technically no. But there is a paper that mentioned a bottle that grants wishes. Some third-rate journal. All of us think that stuff is hogwash, I only know about it because it’s a bit of a joke,” Nikandros says dismissively. He writes the details down for Laurent, albeit eying him with a very sceptical expression. Laurent is sure that if he had a reputation in this department, then it has just gone down a notch. 

Back home and sitting cross-legged on the cleared portion of his bed, he gets Damianos to bring him tea again, and then reads the paper carefully. As Nikandros had said, indeed it sounded like nonsense, with a lot of hypotheses but no scientific argument. The line about the ‘genie bottle’ simply notes that ‘once the bottle is broken, the wishes will not be granted anymore’. 

“It doesn’t say we should break the bottle.” Laurent says. 

An answering click from the bedroom door. Damianos agrees. 

“Do you want to try?” Laurent says. 

There is no answer. Of course he doesn’t know. Laurent supposes he could be choosing between death and freedom. Would he want to live the rest of his life like that though? 

Two taps sound out on the window. Laurent jerks in surprise. He hadn’t asked anything. 

“What is it?” He says, “Do you want to try?”

One tap. 

Laurent’s eyes widened. “I – I don’t…” A panic builds in his chest and his throat feels constricted. “I can’t!” Laurent whispers, “I… what if I kill you… for real?” 

Everything starts shaking in the room, the lights rattle, the bed creaks, and the door slams shut. The bedside table is vibrating almost invisibly, and Laurent, realising what Damianos is about to do, shouts, “No!” as he leaps forward to grab at the red vase. His hands clutch at thin air as he just misses, and Laurent watches in horror as it topples and rolls off the edge. Where it had landed on the floor lay a pile of fine reddish sand-like material. 

“Damianos?” Laurent whispers, crouching over at the pile of sand. “Are you there?” Laurent hears his own voice clear in the abundance of silence. He sinks down on the floor, unable to comprehend, unwilling to believe, refusing absolutely to think about what it all means. He isn’t sure how long he sits there like that, chewing his lower lip and focusing on nothing at all so that he would not feel the overwhelming lonely silence.

A loud thud from somewhere in the living room breaks Laurent’s focus and he jerks. “Damianos,” He runs out into the living room and stops short just at the threshold.

There is a man there. 

He is crouched against the floor, head bent down and hands splayed out, one hand smoothing along the floorboards. He looks towards the door, his expression frozen in stunned disblelief, and then his gaze settle on the kitchen table and he puts out a hand to touch the legs of the table. His lips are parted as he looks towards his own hands, repeatedly pressing his fingertips together. Damianos finally notices Laurent and lifts his eyes up to him. His eyes widen as they stare at each other, and Laurent feels as though his feet are glued to the ground, unable to move. His mind is blank and he doesn’t know what he should say. Then Damianos starts shaking and tears roll down his cheeks. A few seconds later, he is sobbing in earnest as he folds his head down to his chest between his knees. It breaks Laurent out of his stupor, and he decides to make tea for Damianos. It seems fair after all the countless cups of tea that Damianos has made him. Unsure whether Damianos is hungry, Laurent adds two cookies to a plate and brings the whole lot from the kitchen counter and sets it down beside Damianos who takes no notice of him at all. Deciding that the man might want some space to himself, at least if Laurent was in his place he certainly would, Laurent decides to leave the apartment and let him be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the reunion and happy ending.


	3. Chapter 3

Five rounds around the block later, Laurent feels like his head has cleared. It was probably just the whole ordeal of it all that had made him feel so strange. He had always meant to save Damianos, and now that he is saved, everything is all well and good. He had questioned his sanity till his head hurt and still there was nothing more he had gained. There was – appeared to be – a man in his apartment. Laurent turns to practical thoughts. Assuming this is all real, there is going to be a lot of things to sort out. Damianos will probably want to live in his apartment again and Laurent should move out. It will be difficult to find something as cheap as this place again, and besides, that had been what started this whole lot of trouble anyway. Laurent doesn’t need any more complications in his life. He has been neglecting his studies and now it is time to catch up, return to a normal life and finish his degree.

Damianos is waiting for him when Laurent gets home, looking up hopefully as Laurent enters the apartment. There is no trace of the sobbing mess of a man,  
and instead it looks like Damianos has spent some time to tidy himself up. What stands out immediately is how attractive he is with his chiselled jaw, smooth dark skin, and intense brown eyes – eyes that are currently trained on Laurent. It feels like Damianos can see straight into his soul, but that is probably just his mind playing tricks on him. The attraction can be explained away by, well, by what had happened between them, and that will fade with time. Probably. Laurent ignores these feelings in favour of appearing casually confident.

“You do know you’re not tied to this apartment anymore, don’t you?” Laurent stays standing by the door, wondering if Damianos has been sitting at the dining table this whole time. 

“I was waiting for you.” Damianos replies serenely, and his direct honesty unsettles Laurent, who feels a flush start to seep into his cheeks. 

Laurent turns away instead, walking past him towards the couch and busies himself with clearing loose items on the coffee table. Sheets of handwritten notes are put together, and he stacks his books nicely, lining up the edges carefully. Laurent can feel Damianos’ eyes following him. 

Damianos eventually stands up. “Laurent, I cannot thank –” 

“You’re welcome.” Laurent interrupts tightly, glancing at him only for a brief moment and then continues packing. Damianos’ just waits, and waits, until eventually, Laurent finds that there is nothing else to tidy. He sits himself on the coffee table and looks directly at Damianos. It feels awkward. Laurent hasn’t quite gotten his head around the fact that the ‘ghost’ that he has been ‘chatting’ with is one and the same as this man with a body builder physique and intense eyes. In person, Damianos feels large and intimidating, like he could physically manhandle Laurent anywhere he wants. The silence around them is also intimidating, as Damianos just looks at Laurent with an expression he cannot discern.

“I suppose you would like to stay here. I need some time, but I will move out as soon as possible.” Laurent says lightly.

Damianos opens his mouth in a slight frown, and then closes it without saying anything. “I – right, sure.” 

Attempting to make conversation, Laurent asks, “So, what really happened to you?”

That seems to be a good place to start, as Damianos immediately launches into how it all happened.

“My brother,” He begins, “He was the one who found the vase, and he gave it to me to look into. Initially, only the top bit is visible, and he seemed to think it could fetch a good price – not that I think these things should be just sold and bought like that – but he’s my brother and I agreed to help salvage it. I never in the world could have imagined… what it is… I mean, a part of me is still fascinated by it – did you see how it shattered into such fine sediment?” 

Laurent sees a light in Damianos’ eyes, which he thinks is foolish and dangerous. He raises an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I do not have too much interest in supernatural prisons.” He says, a tad too sharply. 

“Well,” Damianos has the grace to look sheepish, “It wouldn’t have trapped you.”

Laurent just stares. 

“It…. It only chooses people who like doing the job…”

“You _like_ it?” Laurent’s jaw falls in spite of himself, entirely taken aback by how he cannot comprehend Damianos at all. It sounds the opposite of pleasant to Laurent. “You _like_ fulfilling people’s wishes?” 

“No – yes – sort of. I mean, I like making other people happy.” Damianos seems a little embarrassed.

Laurent can imagine it, it fits with everything that Nikandros has told him about Damianos, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Despite himself, Laurent can’t help the fascination. “What was it like?”

“At first I tried to do everything to get out, but after a while, nothing worked, all I did was scare everyone away. Then I started to find that it was nice to make wishes come true, in a way, so for a time, it was alright. I still missed everything I had, my family, my work, my friends, but I made my peace with it.” Damainos settles into one of the dining table chairs. “Then you came here.” The last he says softly, almost tenderly. 

Laurent looks down at his hands. 

“Until you, I never thought it would be possible to – I never made a friend, I never thought it would be possible to return to how it all used to be. I –” Damianos pauses, and waits for Laurent to look up, and then he says solemnly, “There are no words I can say… that can thank you enough.” He whispers. 

Laurent is unaccustomed to being treated so reverently. “Anyone else would have helped.”

“No, no one did.” Damianos is adamant. “Direct wishes always have to be carried out. I’ve never even tried resisting it. But it often means that I can’t just announce my presence gently, it always comes as a shock to the person, and then they run away.” Damianos says sadly.

 _Resisting_ … A tremor runs through Laurent as the full implication of what Damianos is saying hits him. His cheeks burn with humiliation at what he had done, what he had forced Damianos to do, that he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to. Without intending to be, he is more like his uncle than he thought. Laurent swallows painfully.

“I apologise –” He says stiffly, “for forcing my wishes on you.” He can’t bear to look into Damianos’ eyes, so it is a surprise when Damianos leaps out of his seat in a sudden motion and steps towards Laurent, who tenses up at the approach. 

“ _Laurent_ , you – you never need to apologise to me. You _set me free_ , I cannot repay you enough for that!”

Laurent wants to shrink away from Damianos looming over him, but forces himself to stay still. “Right,” He says, still adverting his gaze. 

“Wait - you - is that what you think? That I don’t ...that I didn’t want…? Laurent, I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

Damianos kneels before Laurent, forcing Laurent to look at him. “I wish I knew what you are thinking still, so I can say what you wish to hear.” He says softly, his expression unsure.

This of all things upset Laurent. “Say what I wish to hear? Why would you do that? I don’t want you to _lie_ to me!” Laurent snarls, standing up and backing away. He’s not going to stand being treated as a child who has to be placated. 

“I – that came out the wrong way, that wasn’t what I meant.” Damianos lifts himself as well, and brings his hands up anxiously, but does not move towards Laurent, perhaps sensing that that wasn’t the right move.

Laurent would not be settled, “No? Then precisely what did you mean?” He snaps back. 

There is a silence, as Damianos hesitates. It is all going terribly, Laurent thinks. He doesn’t mean to fight with a man who has just found his freedom. Laurent has never been good with people, and for the first time he wishes he were better at handling this. 

“I should… go.” Laurent says stiffly.

“I’m in love with you.” Damianos blurts out, and Laurent’s gaze immediately snaps back to Damianos, his eyes wide for a moment as he wonders if this is all a joke. “I don’t want you to move out. I want to get to know you properly, take you on dates,” Damianos smiles a little and nervously runs a hand through his hair. “I want to listen to you read. And you - I don’t know - if you’re thinking that I wasn’t a hundred percent willing... that night... then I’m saying I am. I wanted you then and I want you now. And if you don’t feel the same way, I’ll accept it and move on. But I – ” His face twists into something miserable and uncertain as his hands grip his jeans a little tighter. “I don’t know what you think anymore… please tell me what you’re thinking…”

“How can you say….” Laurent begins shakily and then suddenly, he doesn’t know what to say anymore, doesn’t know what he wants and doesn’t know why there is a strange yearning growing within him. Mutely, he sits down on the couch and wrings his hands together. “I don’t know you.” He says awkwardly. 

Damianos sits down beside him on the too-small two seater couch, and with him being this close, with their knees almost brushing against each other, it feels like the air between them has changed. 

“I think you do.” He says quietly, “Tell me that I’m wrong.” Daringly, he places one of his hands to cover over where Laurent’s fingers are tightly gripping into themselves. 

It is no more than a simple touch, a warm weight on the back of his palm, but it makes Laurent shiver all over in memory of _this_ particular touch. Because Damianos is right, and he knows him and knows the way he is gentle with Laurent, knows the way he responds to Laurent’s jokes and chatter, the way he is thoughtful about everything to do with Laurent. Uncertainly, he turns to look into Damianos’ face, trying to seek an answer there. Damianos stays exactly where he is, just looking at Laurent with a small hopeful smile, waiting. It takes many long moments before Laurent looks down at their hands and then turns his palm up so that they can interlace their fingers. When he looks up again at Damianos’ through his lashes, Damianos is smiling, his entire face fills with pure joy. Laurent feels suddenly lightened by it, his heart sort of flutters, and involuntarily, he returns a soft smile. 

“I’m not – very good at this,” He says nervously, and he thinks of how that would be the case in a normal situation, much less the bizarre way they had met. 

“I know,” Damianos says smugly. 

It takes a moment for his meaning to sink into Laurent’s head, “Don’t remind me. It is embarrassing.” He groans, letting go of Damianos’ hand. 

Damianos looks confused, “What is?” 

“You reading my mind.” Laurent says indignantly. “I thought I told you not to do that.”

“You’re amazing.” Damianos says softly and the admiration in his eyes is sincere. “You’re so _intuitive_. You figured everything out. You’re so brave and you’re so _good_ …inside.”

Nobody has ever said that about Laurent and his cheeks color a little at it. “I must have been running low on the insults front, or you would not say that.” 

“I like that too.” Damianos says simply. 

It’s the bloody intense eyes, Laurent thinks, that keep making him heat like that. He turns away from Damianos’ gaze self-consciously. 

“You’re impossible.” Laurent says. 

Because Laurent complains that Damianos knows so many things about him but he knows very little about him in turn, they end up talking late into the night. Damianos regales him with tales from his childhood, the way he loved exploring and digging into things, the way he likes being social with other people but also likes the isolation of research work. 

“My friends call me Damen, you know.” Damianos says, when Laurent tries out the word “Damianos” several times on his tongue, rolling it about in the way one attempts a foreign accent. 

“Are we friends?” Laurent asks. 

“No, not really. More.” Damianos says, in that intense way of his.

“Then in that case I will call you Damianos.” Laurent announces. Damianos groans and laughs, loud and deep, and it is reminiscent of the rumbling that Laurent is familiar with. As their shared laughter dies away, Damianos reaches out two fingers to brush against Laurent’s forehead.

“You have a bruise here.” He says. “Let me get you something for that.”

The snark comment Laurent had been about to make stays lodged in his throat as he watches Damianos get up, unused to someone else caring for him the way Auguste had used to. The spot where Damianos had touched still feels burned right into him. As Damianos applies an old salve that Laurent has kept since he was a child, Laurent can’t help but feel the way the pad of his thumb is brushing against him so familiarly. Distracting himself from that train of thought, he says, “I have classes tomorrow.” It is 2am but Laurent doesn’t feel sleepy at all. 

“Of course, I will not keep you up.” Damianos says.

“What about you?” 

“I’m still awake because, I guess I’m just so um, excited to be here. I don’t know what to do.” 

“You should sleep too. Get used to the time zone here or something. Is there a timezone where you were? Did you actually sleep?” 

“I’m not sure, I don’t think so. I sort of drift in and out when something happens, usually when you’re around, but otherwise I don’t think I sleep.” Damianos says thoughtfully. 

Laurent tugs Damianos up, “Come on, I suppose we can share the bed.” He says without waiting to see Damianos’ reaction. Once inside the bedroom, Laurent sees that Damianos had hung up all his shirts in the wardrobe and then neatly folded everything else up to lay on the counter. The bed is made even tidier than Laurent usually leaves it in. 

“I hope that is okay.” Damianos says quietly, watching Laurent carefully as he takes it all in. 

“It is okay.” Laurent says with a small smile. They settle into bed and Laurent warns, “Stay on your side.” 

“Okay.” Damianos says. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Not five minutes pass when Damianos turns towards Laurent, “Are you asleep?” 

Laurent shifts so that he is lying on his back and faces Damianos. “Not yet…” He says. 

“Right, I – I should let you sleep. Good night.” 

In the darkness, Laurent sees him settle back down. “What is it?” He says. 

“I want to apologise to you.” Damianos mumbles. 

“What?” Laurent says, turning his head to the side so he can see Damianos’ profile. 

“I was thinking about what you said – I want to say, that is… I… only direct wishes had to be followed.”

“Yes, well, didn’t you say that before?” Laurent asks, unsure what Damianos is getting at.”

“You only made two direct wishes. The rest of it… is me… that is, I know I shouldn’t have just because I can read your thoughts… it was wrong of me…” He says in almost a whisper.

“Oh.” Laurent feels heat spring up over his face. “Can we not talk about this?” 

“I just – it’s wrong of me and I’m sorry.” He finishes lamely. 

Laurent doesn’t know what to say about it. He still thinks of the two of them, Laurent is the one that should be more embarrassed. “It’s fine.” He mutters. Maybe it is that Laurent feels less reservation in the darkness, or because Damianos has been open and vulnerable with him, that Laurent finds it within himself to inch closer to Damianos so that his shoulder is touching against Damianos’ bare chest. Damianos automatically slides a hand around his waist.

“Is this okay?” He whispers. 

Laurent nods mutely. It’s more than okay, and his throat feels constricted with the words that he can’t seem to voice.

“You smell nice.” Damianos says, as he presses his nose against Laurent’s neck and breathes in. “In that world, there was no scent. I could hear you, see you and feel you, but I never got to do this. You don’t know how lucky I feel now.” Damianos whispers as he breathes in another breath and then cradles Laurent closer and tighter. Laurent turns his face towards Damianos forehead and presses a brief kiss there, oddly touched. In the darkness, Damianos’ lips find Laurent’s unerringly and he’s mouthing gentle kisses at Laurent’s lower lip, kissing the side of his mouth and tonguing his way inside Laurent’s mouth. It is slow and leisurely and Laurent is copying his motions, concentrating on the feel of Damianos’ lips. It is unbelievable that he has this gorgeous, caring man in his bed. 

“You’re real.” Laurent whispers, when they stop to breathe and his breath still feels caught in his lungs. The words come easier in the darkness. “I keep changing my mind, vacillating between thinking you’re real or I’m mad.”

“I know,” Damianos says with a small laugh, “It’s fascinating… the way you think, you’re so logical, so clear-headed. You twist yourself into knots with your thinking. It’s adorable.” Damianos has a hand resting on Laurent’s cheek and Laurent swats at his wrist. They begin kissing again, Laurent initiating this time, grazing his teeth against his lower lip, and Damianos moans softly in response. If Laurent had imagined doing this with someone else, it certainly never occurs like this in his imagination, sweet, tender and also intensely personal like this. Damianos in person feels so much more, and being able to see the effect of his actions on this big beautiful man in his arms thrills Laurent. He feels entranced by it, daringly allowing himself to place his hand on Damianos’ cheek in turn. It still feels strange that he’s met Damianos for the first time, yet it’s like they’ve known each other forever. 

It is this feeling that has Laurent pressing the length of his body towards Damianos, drawing a gasp out of him in surprise. Damianos shifts so that his legs are straddling against Laurent’s hips and he is positioned half on top of Laurent. Beneath their clothes, Laurent can feel that Damianos is hard. His eyes glitter with a fiery desire, but he doesn’t do more than smooth his hand along Laurent’s back in gentle soothing circles. Damianos must be able to feel Laurent’s embarrassing arousal. Maybe he thinks Laurent is a slut, opening his legs for anyone and anything. Even as a voice at the back of his mind reminds him that that is not true, Laurent hears himself say sharply, “Never gotten laid in 4 years, have you?” 

Damianos, surprisingly, isn’t at all provoked. He brings his hand up to Laurent’s face and brushes the pad of his thumb against Laurent’s cheek. “Never wanted to before.” It feels like a contradiction to Laurent, that this man with all the strength that Laurent would never possess would be this patient and gentle even when he clearly wants something from Laurent. And if I say no? The answer comes to Laurent easily, that Damianos would not press it, that if says no, all he is doing is denying himself of what he wants because some part of him is unable to relax. 

“I – I don’t –” Laurent says uncertainly. 

“Whatever you want, Laurent.” Damianos whispers. “I want to take care of you.” 

“I…I don’t know what I want.” Laurent says, the honesty burning painfully, as he adverts his eyes. 

_I want you_ , Laurent thinks, frustrated that he is unable to put a voice to such simple words. His growing arousal is fuelled by his lack of action, and he is unaccustomed to it, unaccustomed of being aroused in the presence of someone else for such a long time. Something must have shown in his face in the dim moonlight as Damianos is sliding his warm calloused palm under Laurent’s shirt and over his belly. It is aimless and leisurely, but it sends hot tingles racing across the inside of his chest. Damianos is hovering fully above Laurent now and pressing kisses against his neck, inhaling Laurent’s scent there and breathing out against his skin. 

“Let me take care of you, Laurent...” He says, mouthing against a spot behind Laurent’s ear, finding the access there easy because Laurent has his head turned to one side, baring all of the side of his neck. Fingers brush his hair aside and then he feels teeth graze against his sensitive earlobe, sending shivers through his body. Laurent’s fingertips dig into Damianos’ shoulders as he makes an abortive sound at it. 

_I’m letting you_ , Laurent thinks. 

When Damianos rucks up Laurent’s shirt further and asks for permission silently, Laurent shifts to let his elbow fall through the sleeve so that he can manoeuvre out of it. Damianos pulls it off him completely, sitting up long enough to do so. Without anything to hold on to, Laurent finds his own fingers running through his hair and tangling them in a grip that is painful. He wonders what Damianos sees when he looks down at him, and then thinks that he likes the look on Damianos’ face, hungry with desire as his gaze roam from Laurent’s face down to his chest and then over again. Instead of touching Laurent like he clearly wants to, he places his fingers around the waistband of Laurent’s trousers and rests there for a moment. Laurent arches a little to feel more of Damianos’ hands against him and then slowly, Damianos slips his hands under, both hands rubbing the sides of Laurent’s hip. 

“I want to do it slowly, the way you like,” He says, his voice low. 

For a while, that is all Damianos does, just slow sensual circles around his hips and abdomen, sometimes pausing to lean forward and press gentle kisses into his skin. Laurent realises gratefully that it provides him with much needed time to relax further. 

When Laurent’s breathing begins to become more ragged and unsteady, Damianos gently guides him to lie on his stomach next and it makes Laurent tight with arousal as he anticipates. He isn’t exactly sure what he is anticipating but Damianos does not disappoint. His hands smooth over his ass, one hand cupping each cheek. Then he squeezes, and Laurent moans helplessly into the pillow, the sound muffled. Damianos squeezes again, harder this time and Laurent, prepared for it, doesn’t make a sound. Try as he might, it doesn’t stop the spike of arousal shooting through him as he squirms a little into the mattress, the result only slightly satisfying. It is with a jolt that Laurent becomes aware that his pants are peeled down as he feels them gathered around his knees. He can feel Damianos bunching the material so that he can pull it off entirely. Renewed heat floods his cheeks and he thinks of how Damianos must be looking at him exposed like that and shamelessly pressing his hips into the mattress. But Damianos does not let Laurent drift along with his anxious thoughts as he presses his body behind him and drops kisses along the back of his neck and then all over his lower back. His palms rub across Laurent’s side in slow deliberate movements. Laurent can’t think anymore, all he can do is feel and feel. It is driving him mad with desire, but above all he feels safe, wanted, and tenderly cared for. All Damianos seems to want to do is please him. 

“You’re so beautiful, Laurent.” He says as he kisses a spot between his shoulder blades. Damianos had discarded his own pants at some point but it is only apparent to Laurent now when he feels Damianos’ chest pressing warmth against his back and his cock nudging tantalizingly between his ass cheeks.  
Laurent turns around in Damianos’ embrace, his hands instinctively coming up to feel along his impossibly broad chest. 

Damianos drags a breath out and says in his deep voice, “I like that.” Laurent thinks he likes hearing Damianos, a lot. He runs his hands over and over, and then slides it around, down his back until his palm rubs over his ass. It feels deliciously illicit, to be touching so much naked skin else like that. Damianos repeats himself, to Laurent’s delight, “So good, Laurent…” He shifts again and presses his lips on to Laurent’s mouth, kissing Laurent urgently. His hands are framed against Laurent’s cheeks, at once threading through his hair, at once caressing his face. Laurent kisses him back, his movements much more unpracticed but Damianos doesn’t seem to care, seems to like it even as he groans into the kiss. Laurent runs his hands across Damianos’ back as they kiss, liking the feel of smooth skin under his palms. Their cocks are brushing against each other as Damianos thrusts against Laurent. When Laurent arches up and presses himself against Damianos, he moans against Laurent’s neck and mumbles Laurent’s name. 

“I want you so much,” he says. 

Emboldened, Laurent breathes, “Say that again,”

“I want you. I want to be inside you. I want to watch you lose yourself in pleasure.” His voice sounds wreaked and hoarse and his eyes are heavy-lidded as he looks at Laurent. The memory of what it felt like with Damianos inside him sends flames running through his body. 

“ _Yes_...” he says aloud this time, wanting the exquisite feeling again but feeling the trepidation of what they are about to do. Damianos gets up for a moment, and the lack of contact makes Laurent feel lost. He makes a sound unwittingly, but Damianos is back again soon after, slotting himself beside Laurent. “I’m here,” he says quickly and kisses Laurent once, and then again as Laurent leans in chasing after his lips. Laurent can see the vague outline of the phial of oil Damianos has retrieved, but Damianos is mouthing kisses against his chest, against one of his nipples and a new surge of arousal floods over Laurent shutting away all other thoughts. He feels his chest lifting towards Damianos as he licks the same nipple with broad even strokes, coaxing a surprised noise out of Laurent. Damianos is doing wonderful things with his tongue that Laurent didn’t even know is possible, licking and sucking at it in various angles, occasionally pausing to pinch it with his lips. It feels gentler than when Damianos had used his fingers to do the same, but with much, much more warmth. It feels intimately caring to have someone’s lips giving you so much attention like that. 

When Damianos smooths his palm down Laurent’s back and rests on his ass, Laurent did not think it is possible to feel so much arousal. It is the anticipation, he realises, as he feels suddenly embarrassed for thinking about it. Damianos taps once lightly against his ass, and says, “Do you want to?” Laurent buries his face against Damianos’ neck, unable to bring himself to answer, so he doesn’t answer at all. This makes Damianos pull back a little, attempting to look into Laurent’s face. “Laurent?” He asks. But Laurent does not want Damianos to see whatever he can see in his face, and in the end he nods weakly against Damianos’ chest. “I’ll make it good for you,” Damianos promises. The sound of the slap makes it seem obscene, and Laurent is embarrassed beyond words that it feels so good. It makes his cock jerk and leak against his stomach as he can’t concentrate on anything but the stinging on his ass. Damianos hugs Laurent tighter to himself sideways on the bed, their legs tangling together, and his palm lands hard enough to leave a mark this time, making Laurent whimper against his chest. Three rapid strokes land on him in varying places but much lighter than before. Damianos’ palm feels strong and warm as he rubs and squeezes his ass, the deliberate back and forth motions making Laurent dizzy with arousal. Laurent doesn’t know when he started making thrusting motions against Damianos as Damianos simply holds him and groans loudly in response.

Then, with one hand, he is pushing Laurent to lie on his back and spreading his thighs apart, as Laurent hears the sound of the bottle opening. Before it registers in his head, Damianos has one finger pushing into him, probing and stretching and Laurent lets his mouth fall slack at the side, a long ragged breath dragged out of him. Damianos leans over him so that they are chest to chest again, and sucks soothing kisses at Laurent’s neck. He lifts his head and presses his mouth at Laurent’s nipple, his tongue rubbing back and forth fast. The simultaneous sensations make Laurent gasp out as his fingers dig into Damianos’ back. His cock, trapped between them feels hot and aching, throbbing into the sweet friction each time Damianos rubs the length of himself against him. 

The second finger Damianos adds takes him by surprise and makes him moan out loudly. They feel fuller than three of Laurent’s own fingers combined on one of the rare occasions he feels like doing this, and he presses himself down against them in an attempt to fill himself up. _More_ , Laurent thinks. If he could see himself, surely it would look obscene, the way Laurent is fucking himself on Damianos’ fingers, shameless in the chasing of his own release, his face probably red and sweaty and entirely unappealing. 

It is as if Damianos can read his thoughts, as he whispers hoarsely, “You’re so lovely like this. So beautiful.” It is both same and different to the last time Damianos was opening him up. His fingers feel exactly the same, and the waves of pleasure that coil through his body are the same. What _is_ different is his very large presence, the way he responds to Laurent and the way he derives his pleasure from Laurent’s pleasure. It is impossible to ignore the way he is just _here_ , and it grounds Laurent in the present, chasing all thoughts out from him.

The last traces of self-consciousness dissipate into the air, carried away invisibly by the night breeze, as Laurent says, “ _I want_ …” And though Laurent is not explicit, Damianos knows. He pulls out his fingers and pushes himself into Laurent, filling him up fuller than Laurent remembers. It makes Laurent gasp out, breathlessly saying, “ _Damianos, I –_ ”

“ _Laurent_ ,” He whines. 

Damianos stays there, letting Laurent stretch and relax for the right amount of time before he begins to move, slowly and surely at first, strictly keeping to an even pace. Laurent presses the back of his heels against Damianos’ back and moans as each thrust brings him closer and closer to the edge. He whimpers when Damianos pulls out and lays him onto his stomach and then pushes into him again and again. His chest is against Laurent’s back making Laurent feel engulfed with warmth and pinned down. Laurent should hate feeling trapped like this, but it doesn’t even come to mind as all he can think of is how good it feels, how his desire is returned and matched, and above all how right it feels. 

“ _Laurent_ ,” Damianos says, sounding strangled. “You feel incredible, I want you so much, I wanted you for so long.”

“Yes,” Laurent hears himself say, “yes…” 

He feels himself pressed deeper into the mattress and then Damianos comes with a cry, emptying himself inside Laurent after one final thrust. Laurent can feel the tremors against his back as he comes and it heightens Laurent’s arousal even further. He feels crazed with desire and he wants his own release now without fully understanding that is what he is chasing after. A soft sob leaves his lips as he grasps wildly behind him. But Damianos is there, and catches his hand, pressing a steadying kiss on to it. He turns Laurent around, and then he’s rubbing the tip of Laurent’s cock with his thumb, smearing the wetness there, with exactly the right pressure that has Laurent exhaling and moaning desperately. In one long slide, he takes Laurent’s cock into his mouth, making Laurent cry out suddenly at the warm and slick sensation. Damianos is enthusiastic as he presses Laurent against the back of his throat where it is hot and tight. It is so unexpected that Laurent orgasms right then with Damianos pulling back and stroking him through it. Only when the aftershocks die down, leaving Laurent’s body sated in a drifting sort of after-pleasure, does Damianos let go, kissing Laurent on the belly once. 

Laurent wants to curl into himself and hide, now that he isn’t driven by blind lust anymore, but he finds himself unable to look away from Damianos, his beautifully muscled body, and most of all his eyes, tender and intense, all his attention given over to Laurent as he pushes a damp curl of hair away from Laurent’s face with the most gentle of touches. 

“Hey,” He says as he looks into Laurent’s eyes, soft and reverent, and Laurent knows without knowing how he knows, that it is as profound for Damianos as it is for him. “Let me clean you up.” Damianos says in a raspy whisper, which makes Laurent aware of the trickling liquid at his ass. He touches his fingers behind himself just to check. Sure enough, his fingers are coated wet and sticky, and again Laurent reminds himself that it is real. When they both settle back into bed, it is with the familiar comfortable feeling of having slept like this before, but this time with the addition of mingled happiness and warmth. Laurent feels his chest brimming full of it, and it radiates from Damianos in the way he smiles his dimpled smile at Laurent and holds Laurent close against himself. Laurent falls asleep like that, sleepily wondering if he is at one of those turning points of his life, a perilous threshold or a culminating crossroad where everything after is to be changed forever. 

**Bonus scene**

“You… you’re _dead_!” Nikandros staggers back in his own office, pressing his back against the wall furthest away from the entrance. His eyes are bulging so wide it could almost be comical as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Not really, old friend.” Damianos says, as his palms come up placatingly, unsure where to begin to explain. 

Nikandros looks between Laurent and Damianos. “You’re the PhD student!” He says, still in that horrified tone. 

“Not really, either.” Laurent shrugs lightly against the door frame. 

Nikandros eyes flick side to side. “I must be dreaming. Fucking seven hells. I am –” He turns away from them, blinking rapidly, “I am just overworked and tired. I have been working on too many grant applications, and I – _Oh god_.”

“God won’t help you here.” Laurent says unhelpfully.

“Laurent,” Damianos complains, “I’m trying to think of how to talk to my best friend.”

“You were not this tongue-tied around me.” Laurent says.

“I don’t remember you having any complains about my tongue.” Damianos retorts.

“Perhaps you should put it to better use if you’re aren’t going to say anything useful.”

There is a thump that draws both their gazes towards Nikandros, who has sat himself down heavily in his chair again. “I need a fucking drink.” He mutters.

Without glancing at Damianos, Laurent slides a hand into his bag, and brings out a bottle of beer to place on the desk, thoroughly enjoying the surprised reactions of both men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following this very weird and indulgent fic! Though I have one more idea for this AU, I'm going to mark it as complete as I don't know if I'll end up writing it.


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